


Crowns

by Cinaed



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alcohol, Aliens, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-02
Updated: 2007-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, this was all Sheppard and McKay's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowns

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Kavtolanon Christmas exchange.

"You know," Kavanagh says, "this is all Sheppard's fault. And McKay's." The wine that the Verundians smilingly thrust upon them earlier that evening slurs his words a little, but he's fairly certain that he gets his opinion across, which in the end is all that matters.

Zelenka's shoulder bumps against Kavanagh's and his fellow scientist laughs softly as they continue towards the huts where they will be spending the night. "I do not think Sheppard would have agreed to being a part of the midsummer festival had he known it involved that much alcohol," he says, and Kavanagh notices that his words don't slur at all, despite the copious amounts of ale he distinctly remembers Zelenka drinking. "Or crowns made of flowers." He pauses. "_Especially_ the crowns made of flowers." 

Kavanagh snorts at that and lifts his gaze from where he's been carefully watching the path beneath his feet, just in case the path should suddenly decide to vanish while he's not paying attention. He finds himself eyeing Zelenka's unadorned head where a chain of flowers should be. His own crown is plastered against his forehead; it is damp from sweat and itches vaguely, just enough to bother him but not enough to compel him to tug the thing off his head and throw it into the nearest bush, like McKay had halfway through the festival, much to the amusement of the watching Verundians. 

"How'd you get away with not wearing one?" he demands, remembering how the Verundians had smilingly (always smilingly, and Kavanagh half-suspects they were permanently stoned or something, because no one could be that cheerful all the time) gone around to everyone on the off-world team, holding up the crowns with warm, expectant expressions on their faces. 

Zelenka chuckles again and there is a low rumbling undertone of smugness in the sound. "I told them I was allergic to the flowers, but that I appreciated the gesture. Didn't you see McKay's expression when I stole his excuse?" 

Ah, so that's why McKay's face had been bright red, mouth working soundlessly while one of the Verundians beamed and gave him a crown of bright blue flowers that matched his eyes. At the time, Kavanagh just assumed that McKay was appalled at having to participate in such a stupid and pointless festival when there was a powerful energy source only a half-hour's walk from the 'gate that needed investigating. 

He rolls his eyes in exasperation just thinking about it. This should have been an uncomplicated, fairly short mission. It's the only reason he and Zelenka are even here, after all. Weir, in all her so-called wisdom, felt that more scientists needed to get 'off-world experience' and when this mission was deemed safe for non-veterans -- well, as safe as any mission could be with the Wraith around, he thinks sourly -- he and Zelenka were 'strongly encouraged' to come with Sheppard's team. 

And it _should_ have been a simple mission. They merely had to walk the half-hour to the energy source, avoiding the village, and then get back to Atlantis with their newest discovery. It would have taken them a better part of the afternoon (maybe more, maybe less, depending on what the energy source turned out to be), and then they could have gone to bed in their respective quarters, but no, of course Sheppard had decided to use diplomatic skills that he only thought he had. Naturally Sheppard had to play the meet 'n greet game with the natives, and somehow that meet 'n greet turned into 'let's go participate in the village's midsummer festival.' 

And now here they were, spending the night in huts. 

"Huts," he mutters in disgust, because really. "Please tell me that McKay plans on investigating the energy source as soon as possible tomorrow." 

"Ah, I think that depends on how much of a hangover he has in the morning," Zelenka says, and Kavanagh looks at him just in time to see his mouth smooth into an attempted neutral look. His eyes, however, twinkle merrily behind his glasses. "The last I saw of Rodney, Ronon was half-carrying, half-dragging him to a hut and Rodney was attempting to sing 'O Canada' to him." He pauses, and the moonlight illuminates his mock-thoughtful expression, which is far too innocent to be anything but pure mischief. It is similar to the look he wore when he invited Kavanagh to help him hack a Marine's laptop and delete the man's entire collection of porn, all because the Marine had made the mistake of kicking a puddlejumper in Zelenka's presence. Kavanagh still remembers how the Marine had almost wept upon discovering that his porn collection had vanished. "He actually has a decent singing voice, you know." 

"He can start an a cappella group," Kavanagh remarks, smirking at just the idea of it. "The Lantean Singers." He tilts his head. "Think he sings in the shower?" When Zelenka just smiles at him, he realizes that Zelenka probably already has hacked the security feeds and gotten a sound clip of McKay singing in the shower, just for possible blackmail material in the future. 

He looks around and blinks when he realizes that they're already at the huts. Kavanagh looks back behind them, but apparently they really have traveled the path from the bonfire to the huts. Apparently the alcohol has messed with his perception of distance, because the huts had seemed much, much further away when Zelenka had hauled him to his feet and they'd first begun trudging down the path. 

"Good night," Zelenka says, and when Kavanagh glances over, he pulls the crown off his head. The flowers have long since wilted, and the shriveled red petals look almost black in the dim moonlight, and Zelenka is smiling as he adds, "Sleep well," and hands the bedraggled crown to him. 

"Sleep well," Kavanagh echoes, looking down at the crown in his hand just in time to see a few petals flutter to the ground. Where is a trashcan when you really need one? Shaking his head, he opens the door to 'his' hut and groans at the sight of a hammock. "I hate this galaxy." 

He can hear Zelenka chuckling even through the closed door. 

***

When Kavanagh wakes up the next morning, he immediately wants to die, or if he can't die, at least to fall into a coma from which he can miraculously awaken once this hangover is over with. 

His head throbs with what feels like a thousand miniature hammers gleefully pounding away at the inside of his skull, every muscle aches from sleeping in the hammock, his mouth tastes like death or death's equivalent, and even the gentle swaying motion of the hammock makes him queasy. Somehow, though, he manages to get up without tumbling face-first from the hammock, and proceeds to stagger out of the hut and into the village. 

Kavanagh grimaces at the bright sunlight -- he doesn't recall them having two suns yesterday, but it certainly feels that way today -- and then shades his eyes with one of his hands, looking for a familiar face. 

He easily spots Dex; the Satedan is a full head taller than most of the Verundians. He can't help but be a little gratified to note that Dex also looks worse for the wear, slightly pale and with reddened eyes. Misery loves company, after all. 

Dex nods at him. "We're having a final meal with the Verundians and then heading out," he says, and when Kavanagh nods back in acknowledgement, Dex falls silent and stalks away to bend and murmur something into Teyla's ear. 

Teyla is looking surprisingly refreshed, but then again, perhaps not so surprisingly. Kavanagh vaguely remembers glancing over during the festival and watching her switch her full cup of wine with Dex's empty one while the already-plastered Satedan wasn't paying attention. 

McKay's voice suddenly rises over the softly murmured conversations of the Verundians, the scientist complaining, of course, and Kavanagh winces as the number of miniature hammers in his head triples in a split second. He closes his eyes and presses his hands over his ears for a moment, trying to block out everything -- okay, trying to block out McKay's whining. 

When he opens his eyes again, Zelenka is in front of him, looking far too amused at his misery. "Here," is all he says, voice almost a whisper and yet still too loud for Kavanagh's comfort. Two aspirin rest in the palm of his extended hand. 

Kavanagh isn't certain whether to glare at him for not having a hangover or snatch the aspirin from his hand and thank him profusely. 

Instead he settles for a mixture of both, scowling at the other man even as he dry-swallows the pills. Someday he will have to figure out how Zelenka's avoided becoming a lightweight during their time on Atlantis, and use it to his advantage. Shielding his eyes against the harsh sunlight once more, he asks, "The energy source?" The sooner they can investigate the energy readings, the better, after all. 

"First, we eat," Zelenka says briskly. "However, I have been speaking to one of the Verundians, and he says that they have a temple dedicated to the Ancestors around where the energy source is. Rodney and I suspect that the temple and the energy source are probably connected--" 

Zelenka keeps talking, the cadence of his voice easy to pick out among the unaccented conversations of the Verundians. Kavanagh follows him towards where McKay, red-eyed and wearing a five o'clock shadow, keeps complaining about the food, the weather, and something about Sheppard's hair. 

Each irritable word increases the throbbing of Kavanagh's headache. That aspirin better start working soon, or else Kavanagh can't be held accountable to what he does to Atlantis's chief science advisor. He accepts the bowl of something vaguely stew-like from an ever-smiling Verundian (seriously, they must all be stoned), suddenly understanding McKay's complaints. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to eat some of the stew, and then gives up. If one of the Verundians asks, he'll just say he's feeling ill from the wine last night. It's mostly the truth, after all. 

"So," Sheppard says brightly, "when we get back we won't tell Elizabeth that the entire point of the festival was to get drunk, right?" 

His voice is so loud and obnoxious that Kavanagh is tempted to hit him. He might have considered actually making a smart-ass remark, only it's obvious that the colonel is just as hung-over as the rest of them and is only pretending to be fine to irritate McKay. He settles for a snort, and Sheppard gives him a narrow-eyed look, which Kavanagh returns, and they glare at each other for as long as the painfully bright sun will allow them. If anything, this mission is definitely an example of why they need someone more responsible, like Caldwell, as the head of the military in Atlantis. 

"The point of the festival was to celebrate the summer, Colonel, as the Verundians explained last night," Teyla remarks almost primly, and Kavanagh eyes her, but even after all this time in the Pegasus Galaxy, he still can't tell when the Athosian is teasing or not. He suspects she is, judging by her too-solemn face and the glint in her eyes. 

After a few minutes of attempting to eat the gruel they've been provided, McKay gets to his feet, brushing dirt from his pants and scowling a little. "Well, let's go," he says impatiently, though the words lack its usual bite, the hangover apparently dulling his razor-sharp tongue. "Places to go, strange energy readings to investigate, a city to keep safe from imminent destruction." 

Everyone follows after him, Kavanagh rolling his eyes at McKay's hubris and then biting back a sigh of relief as the aspirin finally begins to take effect, his headache beginning to ease and the nausea ebbing. Thank God for small mercies. 

The Verundians wave, smile, wave some more, and watch as the Atlantis group leaves the village; he notices that none of _them_ look hung-over. 

It isn't until they're outside the village that McKay announces, "And the Pegasus versions of daisy chains? They were a figment of our imagination. Never, ever happened." 

Kavanagh has to smile at that. He even joins in the empathetic nodding because the crowns being a figment of their imagination works for him. Completely.  



End file.
